


Little Things, All The Stereotypes

by Uncommon_Lamp



Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley
Genre: Anxiety, Clerval is too optimistic, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Domestic Fluff, Everyone Needs A Hug, Fix-It of Sorts, Guilt, He just wants to help, Hurt/Comfort, I dont know if I can call it a fix-it because it could technically be canonical, Insomnia, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Savior Complex, Touch-Starved, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, hes just gay and has trauma, this might be slightly ooc because Victor isn't as much of a bitchboy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-01-28
Packaged: 2021-03-14 11:22:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29045301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Uncommon_Lamp/pseuds/Uncommon_Lamp
Summary: Failed attempts, hours of labor, unfinished concepts, the theories that had been thrown back in his face by his professors, they all seemed to him now as a series of failures that finally resulted in the catastrophe of his success._____Just a couple drabbles about Henry taking care of Victor after nearly working himself to death, I love these two with my whole heart and I just want them to be happy.(Title: Secret For The Mad - Dodie)
Relationships: Henry Clerval/Victor Frankenstein
Comments: 5
Kudos: 23





	Little Things, All The Stereotypes

There was something interesting about a downward spiral; if it happens gradually enough it’s hard to notice how bad things are getting until they all come down at once.

That day had come and gone for Victor Frankenstein and now he had to deal with the consequences. The days Victor had spent in college blended together. Days that later became weeks or months, for the most part, he couldn't tell. The past 2 years had been a fleeting yet insufferably long conquest for knowledge that landed him in a dark pit not even he knew if he was at the bottom of.

Honestly, he found it shocking he'd not gone mad from the repeated sight of nothing but the four walls that were now littered with notes and papers that were coldly staring back at him. Failed attempts, hours of labor, unfinished concepts, the theories that had been thrown back in his face by his professors, they all seemed to him now as a series of failures that finally resulted in the catastrophe of his success.

The curtains remained perpetually drawn for as long as he could remember since it happened. He was too afraid to face the world after becoming aware of what he’d unleashed into it.

He’d also become aware that it was hard to tell if it was morning or night, but he supposed it didn’t matter.

He passed a weak hand along his head, taking note of how long his hair had gotten, again, not that it really mattered.

Before, all that mattered to him was the work. The neverending, torturous work that closed around him like the hallways of a labyrinth with dead ends at every turn. Too many times, the sisyphean effort of “playing God” as it had so often been described to him, was exactly that: sisyphean. Only, instead of the theoretical boulder reaching the top of the hill for it to fall down the other side, it had promptly rolled backwards and crushed him under its weight.

He supposed his broken psyche was penance for his blasphemy, but in truth, he felt as though God had made him suffer enough already.

He couldn’t even bring himself to think about the hideous thing, it was gone now, that was all that he knew. Though, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to shake the haunting image of those mangled citrine eyes from his mind.

That pale, broken body that moved in such disturbingly unnatural ways. It was nothing but horror, pure visceral horror with a form that was only fit to roam the outskirts of hell. Every time he closed his eyes he saw it awaiting him, looming over him, casting the starkest shadows that bathed everything they touched in ominous blackness.

Whenever he tried to sleep, he found the deformed thing waiting for him in his dreams or in the macabre corners of his imagination, whichever was more real to him at this point. He’d gone days without rest, and when his body inevitably gave out, he was seldom at peace.

“Victor.”

The young man came slowly back to reality, blinking in the dark of his room with his hands in his head.

“Victor, are you listening to me?”

He felt a hand gently shake his shoulder, very gently, he’d fall over if it was anything but.

“Victor, being in this room isn’t healthy for you, how long has it been since you even saw the sun?” Victor slumped against the desk, his tired arms finally crumbling beneath him from the weight holding up his head. “Time is a social construct.” He groaned. His pathetic humor was his only defence against the truth that made him so uneasy. The simple truth that he’d been effectively rotting away for the past 2 years under his own care.

The scientist didn’t say anything else, didn’t even think he could. He just looked pitifully at Henry through half-closed eyes, painfully exhausted and thoroughly lost in his thoughts.

Clerval sighed and lifted him to his feet with his arm around his shoulder. With his mind half present he found himself taking note of how his frail limbs fell against Clerval’s noticeably more stable body. Involuntarily, he melted into his touch, into his arms, his head resting against the warmth of Henry’s chest. “I’m sorry....” He muttered. There was a lot he felt the need to apologize for, but in his condition he couldn’t even form a coherent sentence.

Henry didn’t press the exchange any further, instead he just placed a hand on the back of Victor’s head and heard a shuddering sob come from his throat as he desperately hugged him back.

“It’s alright, just lay down and rest, I’ll be here.” Victor shook his head frantically, still wrapped up in the warmth of his embrace. He trembled half in exhaustion, half in lingering fear.

“Can’t rest… can’t sleep… it’s not…not… safe...”

He felt tears well in his eyes, lacking the composure to hold them back. Anxiety flowed throughout his body like a tempest, he’d hyperventilate and panic again if he had the strength but he couldn't even find that much within him. He had nothing, absolutely nothing between him and being thrown back into the nightmares of his subconscious. Suffocating, dying in the grave he’d dug himself into. It was only a matter of time before the predestinate return of that godforsaken _thing._ and he’d have to atone for the atrocity of its existence.

He was going to die.

Clerval was going to die.

And there was nothing he could do.

His thoughts were interrupted once again by the contact his side made with his mattress (which he hadn’t slept on for what seemed like months). He could still feel Henry’s arms around him, holding on tighter than before, grounding him back down to Earth. And with whatever remainder of strength Victor could muster, he held him back.

“Is this okay?” Henry asked softly. Victor nodded the best he could and tried to sync his rapid breaths with Clerval’s, which, as always, were comfortingly slow and calm.

Henry lifted one hand to Victor’s cheek and looked into his eyes.

“Listen, I don’t know what happened, I don’t know what you did or didn’t do or what’s got you so shaken up, or what you’re so frightened of.” He said quietly, wiping away his tears. He pulled Victor closer to him so that his head was cradled between his chin and collarbones.

“But as long as I’m here, as long as you’re here with me, I swear, I’m not letting anything hurt you.”

Victor knew it was an empty promise, he knew that Henry didn’t know what he was talking about and that it was foolish to believe, but, in spite of himself, he did. Perhaps his mind was too tired to argue with reason, perhaps it was the overwhelming safety he felt in Clerval’s arms, or maybe it was nothing but suspended disbelief. But he believed him, even when the concept of belief didn’t come easily to him, in spite of everything, the trust was there.

He felt his tense body slowly fall limp, his consciousness mercifully fading away as the seconds passed.

His last thought before he fully fell asleep was that if he’d live to have someone ask him what true relief felt like, he’d think back to this small, crowded room. He’d think back to finally letting himself fade into the blissful darkness of his closed eyes and he’d think back to Henry. Henry, who had found him and saved him no matter how much he didn’t deserve it. Henry, who cared for him and comforted him when he needed it most. And Henry, who had held fast to the promise he made him when his mother died; that he’d always be there for him.

His friend, and his lover who was all that was hope and all that was solace.

Henry, who made his now miserable life worth stumbling through as long as they were stumbling together.


End file.
